


Belonging

by Byrcca



Series: Equinox [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s05e26 Equinox, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 05:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14012979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: Set after Tom Paris’ Dinner from Purgatory in Equinox. B’Elanna clears up a misunderstanding.





	Belonging

**Author's Note:**

> Green by Annie M is my mental canon coda to Equinox pt 1 (the same way Katie Redshoes’ Torrid is THE Blood Fever coda.) But I thought I’d give it a shot anyway.

***

She woke, fully alert, muscles clenched, and tried to shake off the dream. She’d been back in the Academy, drowning in assignments and her own bad temper, and the feeling of not belonging lingered. The urge to run was almost overpowering. Max. Sometimes the universe laughed at her. 

Of all the quadrants, in all the galaxies… she forced her body to relax. 

She tilted her head and looked at Tom, asleep beside her. He was stretched out on his back, his face soft with sleep, his jaw relaxed, lips slightly parted. His arm was draped over his chest, but his leg had strayed to her side of the bed, his foot gently touching hers. She had a side of his bed. The thought warmed her, and she stilled again, not wanting to wake him.

They’d taken the ‘lift together after dinner, and when it stopped on his deck he’d tugged her hand, urging her to follow him. She’d gone because she didn’t want to refuse him in front of Max, and she’d tossed a “goodnight” over her shoulder as she’d followed him out of the turbolift. She’d followed him to his quarters because she was curious how he’d react. He’d been tense all evening, and she’d noted how he’d held himself in check. He’d been courteous, but no one could have mistaken his mood for friendly. 

Once inside, she’d kissed his cheek and moved away, and he’d stopped her with a simple word, “Stay.” If he’d been surly, or given in to his ill temper with a flash of anger, or gods forbid, self-pity, she’d have left, but the simple plea had her reconsidering. “I have some reports to go over before morning,” she said. “And I need to brush up on the specs for Nova-class starships.”

“I have a couch,” he said, and she relented. She downloaded the information onto some spare padds he happened to have, then they'd showered together. “Saves energy,” Tom had quipped, his mood noticeably improved. She’d shoved her uniform into the ‘fresher, slipped on a nightshirt, and climbed into bed beside him, her stack of padds on the table to her left. He pulled out a hardcover novel, but before he’d fully settled she leaned over and kissed him. She drew back, staring into his gorgeous blue eyes and trailed her fingers along his jaw as she relaxed against the pillows. “Thanks,” he said softly. He watched her for a few seconds before he took up his book. 

He’d fallen asleep before she had and she’d taken his book from his slack hands and laid it on the bedside table beside her padds, then quietly asked the computer to dim the lights. She’d slipped into sleep listening to his quiet breathing and mentally reviewing everything she had to do tomorrow morning. And now she was wide awake though she didn’t think she’d slept for long. 

She knew exactly why he’d wanted her to stay last night, and it wasn’t just to get into her pants. He’d wanted her there in case Max asked the computer her whereabouts. He'd wanted her there in case Max decided to drop by her quarters. He’d never truly been jealous before, as far as she knew. Freddy Bristow’s interest had amused him. Vorik’s early pestering, before _The Incident Which Will Never Be Discussed_ , had confused him. But he’d never been jealous of her affections, the egotistical bastard. 

Until yesterday. He’d tried to hide it. He’d smiled and laughed too loudly at Max’s stories. At one point, he’d even clapped him on the back. B’Elanna had the impression that he’d rather have punched him. And he’d touched her all evening: a hand on her lower back, his palm cupping her elbow, his hand on her thigh under the table while they were eating dinner. And when they’d left the mess, he’d held her hand. The message was clear: she belonged to him. It thrilled her, just a little, made her inner-Klingon want to crow with victory. Could have been more, if she hadn’t clamped down on the feeling. Could have pissed her off if she hadn’t understood. 

She watched Tom sleep and felt warmth steal over her. It was more than affection, and had nothing to do with lust. It was a hell of a lot more than the anxious, self-doubting crush she’d had on Max. She cringed remembering how surprised and grateful she’d been at his interest. How she’d longed to feel normal, to feel like she belonged. She hadn’t had his stupid sweater, he’d never offered, but she remembered longing for that sign of ownership, that signal that she belonged to someone. Losing part of your kit was a demeritable offense, and she hoped that whomever he’d given the sweater to had burned it. She hoped he’d been sanctioned. 

Her gaze swept Tom from his messy hair, down his small, straight nose, his jaw sporting golden, morning stubble glinting in the lights from above the bed. His broad shoulders and chest, more muscular than they appeared in his uniform. His long, graceful fingers splayed across his diaphragm. She slept on her right side, curled toward him, and she only had to flex her fingers to touch his arm. She reached out and slowly, gently, did just that. He was warm, solid, hers. She leaned over slightly and kissed the point of his shoulder. 

**

Tom woke to the feeling of B’Elanna chewing on his shoulder. Her sharp teeth grazed his skin, her moist tongue tasted him. Her warm lips salved with a kiss. He kept his body relaxed but was careful not to move, waiting for her to ‘wake’ him, wondering how she’d do it. Her small hand slid across his stomach and he fought the reflex to clench the muscles. “Tom…” Her voice was low and breathy against his skin.

In a practised move he reached for her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her on top of him. She grabbed him by the ears, and he flinched in anticipated pain. She stared at him, nose to nose, her eyes huge and dark in the dim light, then leaned down and kissed him lightly, her eyes still on his. “Hi,” she said. 

“I love you, B’Elanna,” Tom responded softly, his voice gravelly with sleep. 

“I love you, too. I choose you, Tom.” She settled softly on him, her breasts pressed to his chest, her hips on his belly, legs splayed down his thighs, her warm center resting on his semi-erect penis. 

“You chose him first.”

“I was eighteen. And I wanted to belong.”

“To him?” He said it lightly, almost but not quite, teasingly.

Max had told her daily that he loved her, often enough that, upon reflection, she realized it had lost its meaning. If it had ever had any at all. And it struck her that he hadn’t said her name, he’d used that stupid nickname: BLT. He’d been slick and far too confident, and he’d wowed her, steamrolled over her hesitation and self-doubt and made her feel like she was the most important person in the world to him. Until she wasn’t. Until she bored him, or disappointed him with her focus on her studies instead of his play, but by then she was done with him. Done with his ego, his self-importance, his need to be worshiped. 

But that wasn’t really fair. If she’d been young, he had too, and she shouldn’t compare what they’d had then with what she had now. Tom could be thoughtless at times, especially when he was caught up in a new interest or project, but he wasn’t a freshman cadet. Max had been less than she’d needed and more than she’d wanted, and she realized that the sex was a far cry from what she’d deserved, but they’d both been too young for a grown up relationship. They’d pretended, though. 

Max had said those three little words daily, and Tom had said them exactly five times. _And shame on you for counting!_ her inner voice scolded. But for Tom, they were huge words, mountainous, Nekrit Expanse sized. 

“To Earth. To the Academy. I wanted to be like everyone else.” She willed him to understand. 

He sighed, the motion of his breathing making her body rise, then fall, atop his chest, and he brought his hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear. 

“You can’t tell me you didn’t have a girlfriend or ten at the Academy.” Her grin was sardonic, daring him to contradict her. And it struck her that, on the surface, Tom and Max were the same: both popular, both over-confident, garrulous, charming when they wanted to be. A self-fashioned ladies-man. Of course, Tom was so much more. She didn’t care to find out if the same was true of Max. He was her past, Tom was her present and her future, for as long as they had one. She wasn’t a teenager anymore. 

She wiggled her hips, pressing her body more firmly against him. Only two thin strips of cloth separated them, his boxers and her panties. He ran his hands down her back, his fingertips tickling her spine, and up under her t-shirt. His t-shirt. It used to be his, and though he kept it in his closet with his things, it was undisputedly hers now. 

“Computer, what time is it?” he asked, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. So incredibly blue, she thought, so pretty. The thing that had first caught her attention, the thing that had drawn her to him. 

_“The time is oh three hundred hours fourteen minutes,”_ the computer responded.

Pi. Her mathematical heart fluttered with happiness. “We have three hours until we have to get up,” she said suggestively. 

“Maybe four. The commute to work is short.” 

One good thing about Tom Paris, he was quick on the uptake. She grinned and leaned down to kiss him, softly at first, then with more heat. He rolled her onto her side and pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, her neck, the hollow between her throat and her shoulder blade. 

“I love you,” he murmured. _Six._ “I really, really love you.” _Seven._

As she rolled onto her back and pulled Tom atop her, she felt almost grateful to Max Burke. If he hadn't been such a shitty boyfriend, she might never have appreciated how good a one Tom Paris was. 

**

**Author's Note:**

> Fine. Full disclosure compels me to admit that Tom was a sometimes crappy boyfriend himself, though I’m not convinced it was entirely his own fault. He did shape up to be a good husband, though, and I think that’s more important.


End file.
